


Sweet Boy

by Lynchy8



Series: Fun (and sad!) little drabbles [26]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Caning, Dom/sub, Kink Meme, M/M, PWP, Punishment, Smut, Sub!taire, but in an entirely awesome way, combeferre is terrifying, dom!Ferre, so I've been told, sub!R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3096320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Today we are going to work on your self-discipline.”<br/>Apparently aware that he might not have his sub’s full attention, Combeferre cleared his throat.<br/>“Which is clearly an area that needs considerable work.”</p>
<p>From the kink meme prompt: "So Combeferre is usually a really cuddly, loving dom who loves to spoil his good boy rotten, but his punishments are the toughest R's ever gotten. That's mostly it, I was just needing a rough D/s punishment scene where Combeferre is really rough and canes R into a sobbing mess."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Few things before we get started; everything is safe, sane and consensual. Combeferre is firm and, well, fair but R always has his safeword on standby if he needs it.
> 
> If anyone would like anything else tagging please let me know.

“Today we are going to work on your self-discipline.”

Grantaire kept his eyes lowered as Combeferre circled him, talking to him in that delicious low, firm voice. Grantaire was naked, kneeling on the plush carpet of Combeferre’s bedroom, his clothes folded neatly on the nearby chair as he had been instructed to do so on his arrival at his Master’s apartment. The praise he had earned from the simple task was already blooming warm inside him, helping him slip into that familiar headspace where all he had to worry about was following Combeferre’s next command. 

In Grantaire’s eyes, Combeferre was perfect. He gave clear, simple and attainable directions for Grantaire to achieve. When Grantaire succeeded he earned rewards. Where he failed, or disobeyed or pushed back he was punished and then they would try again. When he had trouble going down, Combeferre would put him down and hold him there – metaphorically or otherwise – before building him back up. And always, his Master was thorough in his care for Grantaire’s wellbeing. He never asked too much and always seemed to know exactly what Grantaire needed. He was firm in his execution and accepted no compromises or bullshit.

Right now, Combeferre was wearing simple grey suit trousers and a shirt of dazzling white, the crisp cotton sleeves rolled to the elbows. His silhouette was neatly outlined by the waistcoat that clung to his fine torso. Grantaire had stolen a moment to admire it on his way to the bedroom, and now that he was in Resting Position, head bowed with his hands palm up on his knees, he let his mind process the image of Combeferre fucking him in that suit.

Apparently aware that he might not have his sub’s full attention, Combeferre cleared his throat.

“Which is clearly an area that needs considerable work.”

Technically the scene hadn’t started yet. Grantaire exhaled slowly, forcing his brain to focus on the matter at hand. As Combeferre came to stand right in front of him, he raised his head, waiting for their game to begin. Combeferre’s piercing eyes looked down at him, face unreadable as usual as he considered the man at his feet. After a moment’s consideration he cupped Grantaire’s cheek in his right hand, stroking a thumb along his jawline before moving clever fingers through thick brown curls. Grantaire almost purred, leaning into the touch.

“What is your safeword, sweet boy?” Combeferre murmured, not taking his eyes off him.

“Red,” Grantaire replied, lips twitching into a small smile, enjoying the safe feeling in his chest of being under his Master’s gaze. Combeferre smiled back in return, giving a slight tug to Grantaire’s hair before removing his hand completely and stepping away. Grantaire almost whined, just about holding himself back because Master said they were working on self-discipline and Grantaire so desperately wanted to be good. So he stayed still and waited.

“Listen to me, sweet boy, this is important,” Combeferre began, standing straight, shoulders back and Grantaire was almost salivating at the sight of him.

“I will place you into a series of positions. I expect you to hold these postures until such time as I move you, or you safeword, or I advise that the exercise is over. Do you understand?” Grantaire swallowed.

“Yes, Master,” he replied, earning a smile from his dom.

“Excellent. Then we shall begin.”

The first position was simple enough. From his resting position, Grantaire was instructed to kneel up, hands by his side, thighs and back completely straight, head up and facing forwards. Combeferre told him to breathe in, hold, then exhale, before repeating the exercise. The breathing helped centre Grantaire, along with the sound of his Master’s voice.

Combeferre observed Grantaire critically. His sub’s body had excellent lines, and he had been considering this exercise for some time. Grantaire’s body was a delight; his muscles were powerful from dancing and fighting whilst there was a hidden grace that came from his study of fencing that was carefully masked by the body’s owner, his broad shoulders and stocky build. His thighs were like tree trunks and there was a softness to his belly that belied his dexterity and Combeferre was determined to put his boy through his paces.

He instructed Grantaire to drop down to all fours, arms shoulder-width apart, head up. From here, Combeferre could admire the contours of Grantaire’s back, the strong muscles in his shoulders shifting as he settled into position. Grantaire was half hard under Combeferre’s gaze, a small flush creeping along his cheeks.

“Why do you blush, sweet boy?” Combeferre was curious. This was hardly the first time Grantaire had been naked with him. They had been playing together for some months now and he had thought they were long past the point where Grantaire was self-conscious in his presence.

“I don’t know, Sir,” Grantaire replied, continuing to stare straight ahead, but Combeferre noted his boy’s cock twitched between his legs. Clearly the attention was having an effect, and Combeferre hadn’t even touched him yet.

Grantaire was gorgeous like this, and Combeferre told him so. Being so good, getting into position so Combeferre could admire what was his; could look over the body of his sweet boy, planning what to do with it. Perhaps he would make use of Grantaire’s cherry mouth, holding his boy’s head in place. He could have Grantaire hold his thighs tight together while Combeferre fucked between them, the tip of his cock pressing insistantly against Grantaire’s balls. Or maybe he would part Grantaire’s cheeks, hold him firm and fuck his good boy through the carpet.

“Mine, for my use as I see fit,” Combeferre affirmed. Grantaire exhaled through his nose.

“Yes, Master,” he whispered.

So far, so good. Combeferre moved Grantaire into the next position. This one was a little harder, more demanding. Grantaire flipped onto his back, arms stretched out by his side as though about to assume a shoulder stand. Combeferre directed Grantaire to fold his legs up so that his knees rested on his chest before slowly extending his lower legs up. 

“You are to appear to me as though a chair, a useful piece of furniture on which I could place a cushion,” Combeferre explained, still moving around where Grantaire lay. He observed that his pupils were still pinpoint sharp, not entirely in the headspace where Combeferre wanted him to be. His body shook with effort but he held position, drawing on his gym training to breathe through it until Combeferre said he could move.

In comparison, the fourth position was a breeze. Combeferre directed his boy to roll onto his front, lying with arms and legs stretched out straight in a long line, toes pointed, forehead to the floor. Combeferre murmured praise for how well Grantaire had held that last position, how good he looked now. He considered how Grantaire would take what Combeferre gave him; that he could walk over Grantaire’s back right now and his sweet boy would thank him for it. He looked so good, following Combeferre’s instructions without question. Already Combeferre was hard in his trousers. He was about to direct Grantaire to the next position, but then Grantaire moved.

It wasn’t much. He shifted his head to the side so he now rested on his cheek rather than his forehead, but it was movement nonetheless, and without Combeferre’s permission.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre admonished, disapproval colouring his tone. He stepped forward, slapping his sub’s thigh hard, the first time he had touched him in about ten minutes and his boy gasped at the contact. Instantly he moved back into position.

“That was your one and only warning,” Combeferre advised in his low voice. “Are you wilfully disobeying me, boy?”

“No, Sir,” Grantaire replied meekly, thigh still stinging from Combeferre’s hand. He hadn’t received a punishment in nearly three weeks and that one handprint was more than sufficient to remind Grantaire just how hard his Master could be on rule-breaking.

“Break position again and you will receive my cane, not my cock; am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire’s voice was muffled slightly from where his face was pressed into the carpet. Combeferre made him hold position in complete silence while he mentally counted to sixty in his head, long enough for his boy to really feel the full effect of that slap.

Position five was also relatively easy, with Grantaire’s knees tucked under him once more, forehead pressed to the carpet and his arms crossed behind him, hands holding his wrists. Combeferre returned to instructing his boy how to breathe, trying to restore the previous peaceful atmosphere. From there Combeferre had Grantaire rise back up to all fours, raising his left leg out behind him and then, finally, his right hand out straight ahead. Had he stumbled at this point, Combeferre would probably have forgiven him but Grantaire’s core muscles seemed to be doing an excellent job as he held that posture without trembling for thirty seconds before Combeferre gave him permission to return to all fours. 

Which was when Grantaire dropped his head rather than holding it straight ahead like he’d been told.

Combeferre exhaled sharply. Realising what he’d done, Grantaire’s head snapped straight back up, almost as though he expected Combeferre to just ignore the fact that he had broken position for the second time in less than five minutes.

Taking slow measured steps, Combeferre moved to stand right in front of his disobedient boy. He grasped Grantaire by the hair, drawing his head upwards so that he could look right in his Master’s eyes.

“What did I tell you about your position?” Combeferre spoke calmly and clearly. He never shouted. He didn’t need to shout. He could feel Grantaire trembling beneath his touch, but when his boy spoke his voice was steady.

“You said if I broke position you would cane me, Sir,” he answered, eyes wide. 

“And what did you just do?” Combeferre was merciless. He wanted to hear his boy say it out loud. Grantaire took a shaky breath before replying.

“I dropped my head without your permission, Sir.”

For a moment, Combeferre observed his sweet boy. Grantaire’s pupils were dilated. He was still hard, and he licked his lips in nervous anticipation. Combeferre released his grasp on Grantaire’s hair.

“Fetch my cane, boy,” he instructed, before adding that Grantaire should crawl there. 

This was the point, of course. He loved his boy dearly, but he was unruly and wild which could be a wonderful thing, but not here. Not in this space. Combeferre expected complete submission and obedience. Self-discipline was part of that submission. He expected his boy to do as he was told when they played like this and if he wasn’t able to do that then it was Combeferre’s responsibility to guide him, to train him, to make him better.

Grantaire returned, crawling on all fours, cane in his mouth. Combeferre took it from him before instructing him to stand. In Grantaire’s absence he had considered how he could utilise this interruption to further the point of the whole exercise and now instructed his boy to bend over in the middle of the room, away from any supporting furniture.

“Bend as though to touch your toes, boy, but do not touch yourself. You are not to grasp your ankles or your calves. You are to stay in this position. You are not to move in any way until I tell you. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire answered automatically, even if his tone was clouded with confusion. On the previous occasions when Grantaire had earned a caning, Combeferre had him bend over the bed or grasp the back of a chair. 

Grantaire bent beautifully, of course. He could easily have touched his toes, or perhaps rested his palms flat on the floor if Combeferre wished it – which was an interesting idea for Combeferre to file away for another day. 

“You lack self-discipline, sweet boy,” Combeferre stepped back, knowing that the sound of his voice always kept his sub grounded and feeling safe, even during punishments. “You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it precisely, not your loose interpretation of it. Whose will do you follow?”

“Yours, Sir,” came the reply.

“Who do you submit to?” Combeferre demanded, flexing the cane in his hands, getting used to the weight of it.

“You, Sir,” Grantaire’s eyes were closed. Combeferre smiled, making his boy wait just a few seconds longer, waiting for that moment where he knew his boy’s pulse would be loud in his ears, waiting for the first strike.

“So, with that in mind, I am going to give you ten. If you are a good boy and keep your position, you will earn a reward. If you move or flinch or straighten up you will get extra and you will not be permitted to come. Do you understand?”

There was a moment of silence before Grantaire answered, while he processed what Combeferre had said. He was breathless when he spoke and Combeferre could see that his eyes were open once more.

“Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir.”

Combeferre smiled, even though Grantaire might not necessarily be able to see it from his current position. Giving his boy the chance to redeem himself was always a good idea. 

The cane cut through the air with a swish before cracking against its target. Combeferre didn’t believe in holding back or starting gently. This was a punishment. Grantaire had been given a clear warning of the consequences to his actions and Combeferre was committed to seeing that through. There was an answering gasp as a bright red welt appeared immediately across both cheeks. Combeferre paused to allow the full effect to sink in before swinging the cane once more.

Grantaire hissed as the second stripe found its mark, just below the first, but he stayed put. Combeferre noted that his boy’s hands were clenched, either in determination or to prevent them from moving either down to the floor or perhaps backwards to fend off further strokes.

He couldn’t help but admire how gorgeous Grantaire was, bent over obediently, taking his punishment so well. The third and fourth stripes came in quick succession and his boy cried out but determinedly kept his feet planted on the carpet. Combeferre praised him, let him know he was doing well. After the fifth stroke had made a pleasing sound against Grantaire’s flesh, he paused to admire his work so far.

Running his hand over the five raised lines, he muttered warm, soothing words. They were half way through. Just five more and Grantaire would be forgiven. Just five more and Grantaire will have demonstrated to Combeferre just how good he could be, just by doing what Combeferre told him to do.

He put his full weight behind the sixth stroke, marking the soft curve of flesh just above Grantaire’s thighs. There was a distinct sob from his boy which was pretty much what Combeferre had expected. The problem with pausing was that, while it might provide momentary relief to his dear sub, it also allowed for the full build-up of heat and sting. Grantaire’s backside would be sensitive and white hot to the bite of the cane.

Tears were falling freely over Grantaire’s cheeks as the seventh stroke hit home. Again his boy cried out, but stayed put and Combeferre felt increasing pride in how well his boy was doing. He delivered strokes eight and nine one after the other, enjoying the whipping sound of the cane slicing through the air. 

“One more, sweet boy,” Combeferre advised, drawing his arm back to deliver the final blow.

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire’s tone was sluggish. A reply hadn’t been necessary but clearly Grantaire was well down by this point. 

The tenth stroke bit into Grantaire’s thighs, instantly raising a bright purple welt, but still he held his posture. Combeferre dropped the cane.

With soothing hands, he brought his boy into a standing position, pulling him into his arms so he could provide comfort and praise. He was so proud of how well Grantaire had done. It wasn’t easy standing still through a punishment without even the comfort or support of furniture. He had done it himself, kept himself in place, following Combeferre’s direction like the good boy he was.

Grantaire clung to him, sobbing freely into his Master’s shoulder. Combeferre let him cry it out, leading him over to the bed so that Grantaire could lie down as his legs were shaking hard, ready to give out at any moment. His dom guided Grantaire to lie on his belly, keeping his burning backside away from the bedsheets.

Combeferre was so warm, so kind, murmuring words Grantaire couldn’t quite make out. All he knew was that he was in his Master’s arms, there were gentle fingers running through his hair, petting him and holding him close. Punishments from his Master were the roughest he had ever been dealt, canings especially so; he didn’t expect he would be sitting straight for quite some time and the marks would last and last. Sometimes he could still feel the echo of stripes whenever he sat on wooden chairs, long after the bruising had faded. But it was all entirely worth it for this, to be in his Master’s embrace.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he mumbled, now that his tongue felt like co-operating. He felt a kiss pressed to his forehead in reply.

“Oh my sweet boy, you are forgiven. You took that very well indeed.”

They lay together in silence for a moment, Grantaire growing calmer and more peaceful as Combeferre continued to bring him back up.

“What do you need, sweet boy?” Combeferre murmured at last, keeping a tight hold of the man in his arms. Grantaire paused. Now that his brain was less foggy he distinctly remembered being promised a reward.

“I was good,” he started, wondering if he was allowed to ask for anything he wanted at this point, not wanting to talk himself into more trouble. Combeferre gave him a dazzling smile.

“Yes you were. And good boys get a reward.” Combeferre looked down to where Grantaire rested on his chest, not clinging quite so tightly and with eyes that were bright and alert despite being red from tears. Combeferre loved him like this; face open and trusting, looking up at Combeferre as though he was the guiding light of the universe. He valued and treasured his boy’s gift of submission every day.

“Would you like to suck my cock? I think you’ve earned it,” he offered, caressing Grantaire’s cheek before leaning forward to kiss away the few remaining tears. Grantaire was up on his knees in a flash.

“Oh, yes please, Master, please let me suck your cock. I’ll be so good for you, Sir, please,” he begged and Combeferre couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“So gorgeous when you beg,” he soothed, brushing his hands through Grantaire’s thick curls once more. 

After he had rewarded his darling boy by fucking that luscious mouth, Combeferre would see to his welts, taking care to clean and soothe them with cream. He would spoil his sweet boy rotten because he loved him dearly. But right now, his boy needed to be made use of.

“Open wide, sweet boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, a big thank you to the author of this prompt - I hope I've done it justice. Also to Sarah for being my wonderful and enabling beta, encouraging me to write and post this and for coming up with the title.
> 
> If you liked it, please tip your author with kudos - it makes us write faster ;-p


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